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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147347">in the garden of your bed, i bloom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/pseuds/crackthesky'>crackthesky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Geralt is the little spoon i don't make the rules, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Sleepy Sex, mentions of cockwarming, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:29:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147347</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/pseuds/crackthesky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the morning dawns cold and rainy, but you are tucked warm into bed.  and neither you nor Geralt are interested in leaving it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>286</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in the garden of your bed, i bloom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake to the sound of rain.</p><p>It’s the soft sigh of spring, come at last, the gentle patter of the droplets slicking your shutters an ancient song.  The scent of wet loam seeps through the cracks in your windowpane.  It’s earthy and strong, a heavy damp scent of growth, of tender seedlings pushing through the thick rich soil.  You breathe deep, your eyes half-mast, feeling a ship just off the shore’s edge, caught between worlds, half between earth and the tide of sleep.  Geralt’s back rises and falls against your chest like lapping waves, his breaths slow and sure.  </p><p>It’s early still, the watery light dim and grey, barely filtering through the clouds.  You burrow further under the furs draped over you. Hazy with sleep, you nose against the nape of Geralt’s neck.  He smells of sage and pepper.  The scent of your soap on his skin, with just a hint of the tang of his sword oil lingering beneath, makes warmth coil lazily inside of you. </p><p>“Go back to sleep.”</p><p>You nip at Geralt’s broad, bare shoulder, graze your teeth against his wintry skin.  “When has telling me what to do worked?”</p><p>“Never,” he grumbles.</p><p>“Exactly,” you say, nudging closer, curling around him like the spiral of a nautilus’ shell.  “So why try?” </p><p>“One day you might see reason.”</p><p>“You’re lucky I’m comfortable,” you tell him.</p><p>He grunts.  It’s soft, though, gentled by the drowsy hush that lingers over both of you. You press a ghost of a kiss against the blade of his shoulder.  Crowd closer to him, pull him into the cradle of your hips and chest, greedy for each inch of skin he’ll give. Geralt hums. </p><p>Outside, the rain falls like a veil between the two of you and the outside world, a misty curtain to hide you away from unkind eyes.  You slip a foot between Geralt’s calves.</p><p>“Sleep.”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>It’s warm beneath the furs.  It’s the warmth of a spring rain, soothing and enfolding.  You let your eyes flutter closed.  Geralt grunts as your lashes whisper across his skin like a kiss. </p><p>You float between worlds.  Geralt’s breath is your anchor, the soft rolling exhales mingling with the rhythm of the rainfall.  You stay curved around him, one hand tracing lazy circles over the skin of his hip.  </p><p>Sometimes you think that in the garden of your bed, Geralt can finally bloom.  That he can prune away the wilting leaves of his guilt, that you can pull up the weeds that threaten his roots, all those ugly little brambles of scorn and hate and fear.  If nothing else, you can nourish him, can pour your love from your lips like water.</p><p>The patter of the rainfall deepens into a drumbeat.  The cantering rhythm of it pulls you into true wakefulness.  Geralt shifts against you, likely noticing the change, and you catch your bottom lip between your teeth as your nipples drag against his skin, catching on a few raised scars and sending small licks of sensation darting up your spine. </p><p>Geralt makes a noise that’s pure sin as your circling fingers dip lower, something rough and molten in the same breath.  You hide your smile against his skin.  </p><p>You follow the cut of his hip with your fingers, venture lower and lower. His hard cock is heated against your questing fingertips.  You brush your fingers down his length, a fleeting, lazy touch.  He hisses when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock.  </p><p>“Have you been hard this whole time?” you ask, raising yourself up onto one elbow just enough so that you can peek over his broad back.  His cock is flushed, precome beading in the slit.  </p><p>He grunts.</p><p>You hum and wrap your hand around him.  You’ll never tire of the thickness of him, of the throb of him against your fingers.  You trace a fingertip down a vein.  “If you have, it’s almost a waste,” you tell him.  “To think I could have had you splitting me open while I dozed.  To have you hard in me while I was soft with sleep.”</p><p>“Gods,” Geralt hisses.  </p><p>“Shame,” you say, dropping a smug kiss on his shoulder as you let go of him to reach for the oil you keep tucked behind the headboard.  You drizzle it over your palm and reach down to wrap your hand around Geralt’s cock once more.</p><p>He tenses, his muscles cording.  You hum to yourself, settling behind him again, your breasts pressing against his back.  You scrape your teeth down the column of his throat as you stroke.  He makes a low noise that arrows between your thighs, that slicks you with anticipation.    </p><p>Geralt pushes back against you as you work him, pushes into the cradle of your hips.  You twist your hand around the head of his cock as you stroke up, the oil gleaming on his skin.  It’s quiet, the only sound the patter of the rain and the quick, stuttering breaths spilling from both of your lips.  You had never thought silence could be so heated before Geralt.  Had always filled your bed with sound.  You still do, of course.  Geralt has learned to draw all manners of noise from the depths of you.</p><p>Today, though, tucked under the warmth of the furs and surrounded by the rain’s song, the quiet between the two of you weighs heavy, makes your cunt clench.  Geralt is like a statue of old, his corded muscles outlined under his skin, perfectly sculpted as he fucks into your hand.  </p><p>You sink your other hand into the thick plait you’d woven into his starlight hair last night.  You firm your grasp, fisting the hair at his nape, and give a gentle, testing tug.  Geralt grunts his approval, and this time, you yank, pulling his head back until his throat is bared in a delicious curve.</p><p>“<i>Fuck</i>.” </p><p>His cock pulses in your hand.  You tighten your grip and give a viciously slow stroke, dragging your palm across the length of him.  His thighs flex. You nestle closer to him, bracket him between your body and your hand.  He’s slick with sweat against your skin.  </p><p>Geralt bucks with the next twist of your fingers.  The movement is saturated with power, a river barely held by a breaking dam.  You lean up to press a kiss against his stubbled jaw.</p><p>“Come apart for me,” you murmur.  You have shattered under him so many times, you think, have broken open on his shore again and again, a relentless tide. He is slowly learning to do the same. </p><p>He does.</p><p>Geralt grits out your name as he spills in hot spurts over your fingers.  You gentle your grip on his hair, press your lips just beneath the shell of his ear.  You keep stroking him lazily, wringing a few more pulses of cum from him before releasing him.</p><p>You pull away just enough, and he rolls over to face you at last.  </p><p>“Hi,” you say.</p><p>Even in the dim grey light creeping in from under your shutters, his eyes gleam golden.  There’s an edge of hunger to them, but even that is gentled by the softness of the morning. </p><p>“Should we get up for the day?” you ask, biting down on the lilting laugh threatening to spill from your lips.</p><p>“We’re staying in bed,” Geralt tells you, and he slips one large hand between your thighs to press against your slick cunt.  He tugs you close, and kisses you like you are the sun, warm and reverent.</p><p>Outside, the rain patters down.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it’s chilly and rainy here, a return of a hint of winter after we’ve moved towards spring.  it made me crave a quiet morning in bed wrapped in blankets, snuggled deep. i would say it made me crave fluffy fics too, but i’ve been presented with a feast of those in the last day.  and i couldn’t resist the calling either.  but then it got a lil spicy.  whoops.</p><p>i swear i'm working on my wips.</p><p>i'm just easily distracted.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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